


a life to pay

by catastrofic (lycxris)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brothers fist-bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, References to Depression, Regulus is so done I swear to god, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycxris/pseuds/catastrofic
Summary: Kreacher dies in the cave. Regulus' fate changes.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 176
Collections: Regulus Black Fest 2020





	a life to pay

**Author's Note:**

> For the Regulus fest, prompt by yours truly.
> 
> "Voldemort kills the elf himself instead of leaving him to die, burying his secrets in black water and changing the fate of a star.  
> Regulus, unaware of what truly happened, but certain Voldemort killed Kreacher for some reason, mourns his only true ally, and his admiration for the man slowly dies as he sees more and more of his madness."

Regulus knows something isn't quite right the moment his Lord comes back without Kreacher.

He doesn't ask about the elf, though, and can't bring himself to utter a single word when the man tells him unfortunately _it_ had died while helping him. It had been a very important mission, one he wouldn't divulge, but not to worry.

"I shall compensate you for the loss. Choose any house-elf in the manor and it shall be yours immediately," he assures him, unapologetic. 

Regulus can only acknowledge the offer with a deep bow and a kiss to the hem of his robes, and Lord Voldemort thankfully doesn't press for a verbal answer, too content to even care for the inoffensive slip as he goes away.

Regulus doesn't think he could have answered anything anyway, so he takes the dismissal without a thought and steps back, adjusting his mask.

There are people surrounding them, a large number for such an informal meeting, but only those of high rank and high enough status can stay after a while. Regulus belongs to both, so he endures with the rest, masquerading his pain as disinterest.

He doesn't want to think much about what he's been told, not now. So he absently, numbly, observes the man as he talks with his other Death Eaters, making plans, giving orders, going on with his life as if Kreacher had been nothing at all. And maybe he wasn't. Not for _Him_.

He looks smug, Regulus notes after a minute, poised and proud of himself, more so than usual, and the young Black heir can't help the shiver that runs down his spine at the red gleam of his eyes. _Crazed, mad, satisfied._

He knows suddenly, with inexplicable, unjustified certainty, that his Lord killed his elf—for reasons he cannot even begin to comprehend, and it's all Regulus' fault.

His breath catches in that moment, but the man doesn't bother to look back and catch his eye; doesn't suspect Regulus figured him out, or doesn't even care. What can he do anyway? 

And soon he's walking with purpose out of the room, with Malfoy and Nott close behind, leaving Regulus alone to mourn. To doubt. To regret.

Kreacher is gone. 

Kreacher is gone and Regulus now has to go back to that house, alone.

It feels like losing Sirius all over again, but so much worse, because he's the one that condemned him in the first place.

He had volunteered his elf for death, wilfully unaware of the dangers that came with the man. And for what? He had explicitly ordered Kreacher to return no matter what, and his orders were absolute. More so than whatever his Lord may have told him to do. So his absence is proof enough of his inability to.

Kreacher is no longer...

Regulus swallows with some difficulty, his mouth dry.

 _What did he expect?_ He feels bile rising in his throat and the beginnings of a nasty headache, and he just wants it to _stop_ , but his thoughts won't obey him. 

He had wanted recognition. A place to belong. To hide. To find the acceptance his brother had found so very easily without even trying so many years in the past, still a mere child. To show he was worth it, too; to get a scrap of the attention, the validation that forcibly came with a terrorist group.

But maybe he's wrong. Maybe this isn't the right place for him at all, yet the mark won't let him leave. It will keep him chained to _Him_ , like hands grabbing his legs and dragging him under dark, freezing water, until he, too, disappears.  
  
He's already in too deep. There isn't a way for him to escape that doesn't end up with his death by treason.

…then again, is he even correct in his assumptions? Regulus closes his eyes. He can't keep thinking like that.

He tries to breathe, to calm himself. He lacks the proofs, the motives. It makes no sense, but he can't get rid of the feeling. His gut keeps telling him he's right, as if he were a mere Gryffindor. But that's not Regulus; that's Sirius.

Huh. His mother would laugh at his thoughts, were she still able to read them, then punish him; doubting the Lord for a lowly and bitter elf. She wouldn't understand. She wouldn't even care for an old servant that kissed the ground she had walked on when he was alive. Who'd gladly die again if she asked him to.

No one in his family would, not really. Not even Sirius, with his righteous anger and utter contempt for the House of Black and their disgustingly dark traditions.

Regulus himself isn't too fond of them, but family is all he has. All he could hope to consider on his side, since apparently Slytherin automatically turned him into the world's enemy. And wasn't that right, now? He'd become all his brother had accused him of inherently being from the moment of his sorting onwards. _Rotten, evil, bad._

But this is hardly the place to reminisce. 

He spares a thought to Barty, sweet, smart Barty, feeling remorse at being the connection that brought him here. He considers telling him, explaining his theory, but dismisses the idea immediately.

Barty's loyalty lies with Voldemort. He doesn't doubt it for a second; doesn't try to delude himself with camaraderie. Not when the teen looks at the Dark Lord like that, like he holds the moon in his hands; like his every word is his command, a law he wouldn't dare break.

Regulus sees worship there, adoration and obsession. A different type of obsession, but of similar intensity to the one his dear cousin regularly sports.

Thinking about Bella makes him suddenly aware she's looking at him. _How?_ Regulus doesn't know when she entered the deserted room, but she's staring at him dead in the eye, not bothering to wear a mask.

He forces himself not to tense, afraid she might notice his doubts if he doesn't compose himself in time; that she'll read his mind even knowing she's never been good in that art. 

Bella just keeps looking at him; an expression Regulus doesn't know how to name on her face—until it's gone. Her whole posture morphs, and she then proceeds to smile, delighted, and walks away, leaving him alone in the darkness. 

His heart is beating way too fast, way too loud, and he fears Bellatrix will hear it and decide to come back after all.

For a moment it had seemed like she'd known, like she'd seen right through the wavering of his soul and had been ready to judge him, giving him his sentence in the form of the killing curse. Then she'd vanished like nothing happened, almost giving him a heart attack in the process. 

Regulus isn't sure what she saw, but he doesn't want to find out. 

So he promptly, begrudgingly, decides to forget it all. There's nothing he can do about it, no way to confirm his suspicions. And even if he could, is there any point? 

His grief lies hidden behind indifference, and he apparates home an hour later with Kreacher's replacement.

Regulus knows the little elf has no fault, of course, but he cannot bother to ask for her name, or even gift her a new one once they're in 12 Grimmauld Place. His parents are already sleeping, so he instructs her to the kitchen and goes to his own room. 

It's quiet there, and cold.

By now Kreacher would have prepared a hot cup of tea and some biscuits for his arrival, fussing over master's Regulus wellbeing. He's always been spoiled by him, hasn't he? 

It hurts, knowing he won't be seeing him again. That whatever the cause was, the blame is on him. The elf had even seemed reluctant to part, but he'd never refuse his master's command. He would have wanted to make him proud, even at the cost of his life.

Regulus doesn't notice the tears falling down until he feels the cold, wet tracks they’ve left behind, and allows himself the night to cry, mourning the loss of a childhood friend. Of true, found family. 

It's the least he can do for someone who had so deeply cared about him. Just the night, and then he'll be okay. 

-

Routine comes with some difficulty, but, eventually, Regulus adapts to the drastic changes.

Their new elf, Dusty, is often seen crying and apologizing for displeasing his mother, and only then does she mourn the loss of Kreacher, if only for the competence he displayed, the way he deferred to them.

Regulus feels a pang of guilt every time she mentions him, but she doesn't blame him outright, instead expressing the honour it brings her to have aided the Lord, albeit indirectly. 

His Lord, a man whom Regulus has been observing more closely with each passing day, no longer ignoring the signs. They're hard to miss, even under the illusion of normalcy he's immersed into.

He doesn't even have to search for them when they're so clearly visible, each a heavy confirmation of a dreadful reality. Regulus would recognise them anywhere, now that he's done pretending he can't see them.

The sudden, brutal shifts in mood; the diminishing patience and the proclivity for unjustified, unprovoked anger with the consequent outbursts. The murderous streaks, the thirst for violence, the fierce need for torture. 

All and each point back to a heavy brand of insanity. Regulus knows it well, having grown up surrounded by it, lodged into his very own blood. He perhaps is also a victim, even if he'd like to think it's not as pronounced as the rest of his family's. But he's aware it's there, underneath his own skin, often begging for release. 

His Lord's isn't as subtle, or as harmless, considering he's leading a powerful, unrestrained army, from which more than a few worship him, while others simply want the excuse to eradicate muggles and Light families.

Regulus himself joined because he had to. In part it was expected of him, yes, but it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, with the pressure of war looming over their heads. There were only so few prospects left otherwise, even less for someone like him, contrary to what others often wanted to believe. 

But he was still a teenager in the end, so very naïve, the day he got the mark; one of the youngest, freshly graduated from Hogwarts, having a passive role even before that. The Black influence was heavy in the ranks, and recruiting him had been part of Bellatrix's plans.

He sighs at that, once again alone with his thoughts. The raids have been steadily increasing, each more violent and whimsical to satisfy his Lord's wishes. There doesn't seem to be a reason behind them anymore, if there even was any to begin with, and Regulus notices with dismay how a number of Death Eaters have become reckless in their bloodthirst. 

Luckily for him, his tasks are mostly the gathering of intelligence along with Barty, and discreetly, when Regulus knows no one is looking, he searches for ways to be free, even if only to delude himself, when the war seems to be everlasting.

-

The death of his father comes as a surprise; unexpected, unavoidable. He doesn't mourn him the visceral way he knows should, but they were never close enough for the loss to truly impact Regulus.

His memories are tainted by punishments and expectations, and the loud, disapproving voice of his mother, with Orion always in the background; agreeing with her every claim, but never really speaking his mind, overpowered by his wife.

There had never been a connection, so there's nothing really lost. Not for him, and clearly not for Sirius, who doesn't even bother to show up.

Regulus doubts his mother would have let him come, though, with her strong desire to negate his whole existence. Yet Regulus doesn't have the energy to resent him for it, or for leaving him. Not anymore.

  
His indifference is wrongly taken as strength, and, in the course of a year, he sees his mother crumble with grief. He can't help her, the same way he can't help himself. 

Time does not stop for anyone, not even them.  
  


Meanwhile, his Lord keeps making the wrong decisions, but no one dares to complain in opposition to his reign of fear.

After all, it's so very easy for him to cast the Unforgivables, with the Cruciatus as the favourite as far as anyone can tell, that the grade of the offense is inconsequential as long as _he_ can make them cower and wail. 

Regulus hasn't yet experienced it, but knows more than one has been broken beyond repair by his wand; and since Lord Voldemort no longer makes distinctions between foes and allies, he doubts he'll stay unscathed for much, considering how unfaithful he is now. 

A heavy sigh escapes him, but he's alone in the Black library, so it doesn't matter. 

Regulus remembers reading about the man here when he was younger; the genius, the prodigy. Born to be their Saviour, the one to lead the misguided magical world back to its former greatness, for his blood carried with him that of Hogwarts' greatest founder. Said to have an intellect capable of conquering enemies while his charm and silver tongue could as easily lure them into the palm of his hand.

Regulus sees nothing of that when he looks at his red eyes. The man isn't even a shadow of his former self, and idly, Regulus wonders if all those stories were exaggerated. He doesn't see brilliance when his Lord commands the next raid, or a reason behind all the carnage he's leaving on his trail. 

But he stays silent, too, gritting his teeth and looking away while another muggle village is burned to ashes; often wondering if this war will ever see its end, no longer caring for how it happens.  
  


His answer comes in the form of a prophecy a few months later, delivered by a man who, once upon a time, used to be Sirius' preferred prank tester, and, at first, he's incapable of making the connection. It's just so absurd.

His Lord would never believe a newborn child could be his doom.

Except _of course_ he does, and the last vestiges of respect Regulus had for him extinguish with his violent and hysterical outburst.

There is no form to reason with _Him;_ no one idiot enough to try, and soon after he disappears without informing anyone, certainly needing the time.

There is no news of his Lord until a whole week later, when suddenly they feel the burning call of the mark.

Regulus expects him to laugh it off, to dismiss the whole idea as something utterly _ridiculous_ , but recoils after hearing his orders to find the kid in that same meeting, as do a few others of his Death Eaters, each with children recently born into their families.

It's just _wrong_. 

He knows a single life shouldn't make a big difference, not after all the innocents already dying in this meaningless war, but somehow _it does_.

And, in Regulus' case, perhaps it's also to honour Kreacher's death. 

Whatever the reason, he can no longer stand and watch.

Regulus is already tainted by his past, his participation unforgivable, so he doesn't look for redemption when he starts plotting.

If anything, he can at least put an end to this prolonged mayhem. And even if he dies trying, he imagines he can make Sirius proud with the attempt; a plan surely more fitting for the house of gold and red and recklessness.   
  


He spends months doing research, hoping against hope that his Lord would stop this irrational hunt for a babe, when the reality of the situation hits him. 

The possible matches have been found. They're two: the Longbottom's boy... and the Potter's child.

Regulus' thoughts, unbidden, fly back to Sirius in that very moment, and he doesn't know what to do. 

Both must be hiding under a Fidelus, he assumes, but he doubts it's going to take too long for the Dark Lord to find them, and he can't let that happen.

He has to act now, before it's too late. _But he does not have a plan yet_ , even if he's managed to find a way to cut the connection that chains him to Voldemort while searching for ways to stop him.

But freedom comes with a much too high price; one he's no longer willing to pay.  
  


Instead, he tries looking for Sirius, but his efforts are futile each and every day.

And when the calendar nears the end of October, he sees a man he hadn't expected ever seeing joining _Him,_ and he knows it's over for plans. 

Voldemort leaves the night of Samhain, taking a frightened Pettigrew with him, and Regulus follows them close behind after stealing the answers just an hour before by reading the traitor's mind.

He had planned to warn the family, but it seems it is already too late for them. Though, maybe, he can at least take this chance to end the war by putting his Lord to rest. _Certainly,_ _he can try._

Armed with a disillusionment charm and his wand, he's willing to give his life.

But when Regulus enters the house, prompted by hearing the sound of what is quite possibly an explosion inside, he's surprised to feel powerful magic asserting him, almost sentient. It doesn't stop him, nor does it seem hostile, but now he knows to be wary of it.

He sidesteps James Potter's body, ignoring the ache in his heart for his own brother, as well as the burning of his mark, and climbs the stairs.

He intends to find his Lord rejoicing and use the killing curse when his guard is nonexistent. Yet, when he steps into the nursery, he only sees Lily Potter's vacant gaze as she lays on the floor, unmoving and surrounded by debris. 

In the crib is the boy, Regulus notices a second later, and he freezes after taking in the whole scene, not having expected it.

He breathes in slowly, toning down his own confusion in favour of going to him; feeling almost compelled to be near the little boy, as if the very house were urging him. 

He's reluctant for a moment, scared of seeing a child so young already in the clutches of death—but, luckily, he sees his chest is still rising and falling, and a weight is lifted from Regulus' shoulders then.

The baby is alive, with a shallow cut dripping blood from his forehead, but alive, and there's not a hint of his Lord in sight. 

He frowns at that, but the boy seems to wake up in the next instant, and Regulus, caught by surprise, begins to panic at the threat of tears—fearing he'll start crying and somehow bring Voldemort back, so he helplessly picks him up. 

The only other child he's ever held is his cousin's, so he's understandably nervous at the idea of doing something wrong; but little Harry just clings to him and immediately calms down, closing his eyes after gazing at him for a few seconds with beautiful and tearful emerald.

Regulus uses the chance to check his wound, furrowing his brow at the unusual, ominous shape, but he's mostly glad it isn't anything too threatening. Then, with a wordless spell, he cleans his forehead of the coagulated blood and contemplates.

Harry Potter is a heavy weight on his arms, and Regulus has to make a decision. 

He could leave him in his crib and wait for the Order to find him. He could take him somewhere safe, like a muggle hospital, and hope they'll take care of him. Yet, somehow, Regulus doubts there's a single safe place for little Harry right now. He doesn't know how he knows it, or why, but his eyes are drawn to his forehead, and, on impulse, with his wand pointed at the wound, he casts. 

The spell shows an impossibility, _an aberration,_ and Regulus knows he can't leave this boy behind.

But he can't take care of him alone, either, and before Regulus has any idea of what to do, someone enters the abode. Their frantic, loud footsteps echo in the silent halls, and praying it won't hurt him too much, Regulus apparates away with his tiny cargo tenderly secured. 

As expected, he truly panics once he's inside 12 Grimmauld Place. His mother is sleeping, and even then, she rarely ever leaves her room since his father passed away, not wanting to see him, or the world, so it's safe to say he has a few hours to come up with a plan to ensure Harry's safety. 

"Dusty," he calls, voice soft. The elf pops into existence and greets him, almost shrieking when she sees his little guest. Regulus waits. 

"Yes, Master Black, sir?" she asks, once she's composed herself. 

"I need you to get me baby food, milk, diapers... oh, and baby clothes as soon as possible. A few toys too, if you can; don't worry about prices," he adds, frowning. "Once you're back, put everything in my biggest trunk, yes? And be discrete. Don't let anyone see you, okay?" 

She nods and pops away, and Regulus stares at the sleeping form on his mattress, cocooned between soft pillows and silk blankets. 

He's really doing this, isn't he? 

"I'll take care of you, I promise," he swears. There's a sense of finality to his voice, like an oath. 

Sadly, and quite frustratingly, he can't stay with Harry to make sure he doesn't wake up in the middle of the night, considering his time is very limited right now.

The news of what happened in Godric Hollow will surely spread like wildfire, so he has to act before the world acknowledges the attack and takes the appropriate measures to ensure Voldemort is really dead. That will only make his task harder. 

He leaves his room after setting a ward to prevent any type of harm to come to the occupants, courtesy of his family's paranoia, and makes his first trip to the bank, only a few minutes after his departure from the house, lord ring visible on his right hand.

 _Lord Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_ is a title he's been holding since his father's passing, and this is the perfect time to use it. 

It's a blessing Gringotts stays open this late, even if the goblins seem more vicious than usual at night. But he's well known and his family is feared enough to get the accountant for his vaults in private.

Courtesy is now unnecessary. 

"I'd like to make a withdrawal. A considerable amount. It needs to be done immediately," he pauses, looking the creature in the eyes, "The fees will be generous if you can sort everything out under an hour. I'd also greatly appreciate it if this stays between us." 

The goblin seems offended by his last words, but complies, steepling his old, wrinkled fingers and looking slightly interested; an obvious act. "Of how much are we talking about?" 

"I need half of the Black fortune transferred to an alternative vault, connected to me and the different branches of Gringotts around the world, I don't care how," Regulus says, noticing how the goblin does a double take, breaking his indifferent facade. "No one can know this transaction happened," he adds, unbothered, "You will be rewarded with a thousand galleons if you do this right. More, if you want, so long as it's done." 

The goblin's eyes gleam before he speaks, having recovered considerably quickly. 

"Ten thousand," he says, and Regulus frowns, a dangerous smile gracing his pale face.

"Five," it's a warning, and the creature does rather well in hiding his alarm, yet he still pushes, the greedy little rascal. 

"Five and a Black heirloom," it's his best try.

Regulus narrows his eyes, but concedes. He doesn't have time for this. Every second is vital. 

After sealing the contract with the authority of his ring and his full name written in fresh blood, Regulus leaves Gringotts exactly forty-five minutes past midnight with the knowledge that everything will be taken care of for when he comes back in a few hours. 

Though he isn't done yet, and the spell he's about to perform, now conveniently hidden in a dark alley, should lead him directly to his brother; that if he's not protected by strong wards. Regulus really hopes he's not, since it didn't work the other times he tried to reach him. 

There's only a way to find out.

He casts, the magic keyed to his own blood acting like a tentative portkey that should drag him some place near his target. And it does, surprisingly. But his triumph is soon drowned by the noise. Too much noise for this unholy hour. 

Regulus frowns and looks around, horrified to note he landed in one of the busiest parts of Muggle London. He looks down at himself and hopes no one notices his unusual clothes, since having the aurors called on him now is the one thing he wants to avoid. 

No matter. People aren't paying much attention to him, it seems, even though he was kind of forcefully dragged here, and appeared out of thin air with a crack. Which brings him to the next question: where is Sirius? 

He gets his answer a few minutes later, having heard the screams and noticing the increasing panic surrounding a street in his direct vicinity. He's almost sure he even hears Sirius' voice—when his eyes land on the man his brother is surely chasing. Pettigrew is still as hideous as he was three hours ago. Regulus frowns.

They're running, not caring for who's in their way, until they stop. 

The little rat takes his wand out and—Regulus realises what Pettigrew is trying to do a second too late, and the stunner he hastily sends his way is met by a hot shockwave. He curses. 

Several screams are heard after the muggles register what happened, and Sirius chooses that moment to start laughing; _crazed, desperate, heartbroken._ It's painful to hear. 

But Regulus knows he has to get him out of here, now, so he apparates behind him and forces him to side-along with the risk of both being splinched.  
  


That doesn't happen, thankfully, and they arrive safely to the only place Regulus could think of in the spur of the moment, his memory fresh from viewing another's. 

Sirius is looking at him, a mix of shock and disbelief momentarily overpowering his grief, until he snaps out of it and snarls, attempting to draw his wand. Regulus is much faster. 

"Don't even try it," he warns, pointing the tip at his brother's throat. 

"You're part of them! A murderer! What the hell do you want?!" he screams, his voice raw, angered and vulnerable. Regulus’ heart aches. 

"Sirius, please listen to me," he begs, swiftly casting a few silencing spells in the shack to cancel any noise that could possibly wake up half of the Hogsmeade residents. 

Sirius doesn't care for his efforts, or the threat of his wand, attempting to tackle him now; his face contorted with unrestrained rage. 

"He killed them, Reg! Your fucking Lord killed my brother!" he spits the words, grabbing Regulus' wrists in a bruising hold; his wand falls with the force applied. "Now let me go! I have to find him! He has to pay!"

Regulus bites his tongue, ignoring the pain both his words and his hold causes him. "Sirius, you need to liste-," But of course he won't.

"I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses! You're just like him! I knew it the moment you were sorted into that damn house with the rest of those bastards!" 

Regulus has had enough. He forcefully frees his right arm and promptly slams his fist right into Sirius' nose. _It hurts._

There's a cracking sound, a pained gasp and then silence. Sirius stumbles back and is looking at him like he's seeing him for the first time in his life.

Regulus takes his chance, but before he can open his mouth, he receives a painful hit in the jaw, followed by a knee in the stomach, _and that's so fucking dirty_.

He throws himself and his fist at Sirius' face once again, with momentum, and this time there's a lot of blood falling from his nose when he steps away from him.

"Could you stop being a fucking idiot for once? I'm trying to save your life!" It's his turn to scream, it seems.

Sirius pauses, bringing a hand to his nose in a vain attempt to stop the blood, almost disbelieving of the whole situation, but he's finally obeying him, albeit reluctantly.

"What I'm about to tell you has to stay between us," Regulus sends his brother a death glare before he can think of protesting, "I'm fucking serious, so you better listen carefully and do as I say." To emphasise his point, he calls his wand back and in seconds has his brother restrained and bound with ropes. 

"I can't believe you," Sirius says, but it's more incredulity than accusation. He seems conflicted, but finally sighs and sits down precariously. He looks tired, if his weary expression is any indication.

For his part, Regulus doesn't know where to start now that he has his brother's attention. 

"Voldemort is dead," he settles for saying, but that isn't quite right, so he amends, "or as dead as he can be, but I doubt he'll stay that way."

"He's... what?! What do you mean?" Sirius looks lost. Regulus ignores the pang of guilt and keeps a steady voice.

"You went into that house, didn't you? You must have felt it," he closes his eyes, not wanting to see the grief in his brother's stormy expression this time. "Something must have happened there, I don't know what, but he wasn't there when I entered." 

"You were there?!" He sounds furious now, indignant. Regulus is glad for the restraints.

"I was, but I went after him," he hesitates for a moment, "They were already dead when I got there," it's a cruel reminder, but it needs to be said. 

"What about Harry...?" Sirius asks; it's spoken so softly, so fearful of the answer, Regulus almost doesn't hear it. 

He opens his eyes then, looking at his brother's directly.

"He's alive. I found him and took him home. He's not safe here," he reveals.

A set of complicated emotions flicker through Sirius' face, but it settles on relief and an overwhelming, blinding happiness, barely containing his tears. 

"He's... he's okay?" he asks, afraid, and Regulus conjures a handkerchief, which he soon presses to his broken nose, wiping the blood softly. 

"He's okay. But this place isn't safe for him anymore, Siri. He can't stay here, and I can't either, since I took him before anyone could enter and find him," he admits. 

Sirius sobers, looking at him with confusion and scepticism, "Didn't you say Voldemort died? Why is it not safe for him?" he demands, agitated. Regulus vanishes the handkerchief and the blood, and takes a step back. 

"For now; the mark is but a shadow on my arm," he says, flinching at the way his brother looks at him; a mix of indignation and resentment.

He has to force himself to keep talking. "I'm not really sure what happened, but the house was permeated with strong magic, and whatever caused it, it's linked to Harry," he explains, avoiding his gaze. 

"I still can't see why it's dangerous for him to stay here. We can protect him. Dumbledore will–"

"Dumbledore can't see him!" he interjects, glaring at Sirius. 

_"Why?"_ His brother glares right back and Regulus sighs, resigned to waste more time. 

"It's been a recurrent rumour; why _He_ was suspected to be immortal. No one really knows what the Dark Lord did, but I had a theory," he starts, his tone sombre. 

Sirius is looking at him with exasperation and expectation in equal measures, but, thankfully, he doesn't interrupt. Regulus has to gather his thoughts. 

"Some of the books in our library mentioned the use of vessels to contain a fragment of soul. This would link it and the host to this world even if the original body is destroyed," it's not an easy talk, and he doubts Sirius will understand it immediately—so he's surprised when he sees recognition in his eyes. 

"You don't mean to say that he...?"

"That he teared his soul apart to stay alive like a fucking idiot? Yes. And something happened tonight, something terrible," something even he couldn't believe was possible. A mistake. _A_ _miracle_. 

Sirius pales quickly at his words, but there's a determined gleam in his grey eyes when he opens his mouth.

"Surely Dumbledore can do something about it! He's the greatest wizard of this generation! He can solve it, he will–" Sirius clings to his hope and Regulus sighs, feeling tired. 

"From your reaction, I assume you already know what I'm talking about. Then you also know the only way to get rid of it is destroying the vessel. That means _Harry_ _has_ _to die._ " 

Sirius visibly recoils, eyes wild with a mix of panic and uncontrolled anger; the blood from his broken nose starts flooding again.

Regulus wordlessly casts _Episkey_ , followed by _Tergeo,_ fixing him and siphoning the mess. Sirius glares, unable to understand why he's so calm. _He isn't_. 

"I won't let him die," Regulus reassures, meeting his gaze, "I won't let you die either."

"But–"

"No buts, Sirius. I've already made my decision. I'm giving you the option to come with us." 

"Why are you doing this? I can't understand you!" He's once again raising his voice, unable to stay quiet.

Sirius was always so very loud, even when they were children. Opposing their mother, cursing their house—later in life, cursing him. 

" _I already lost you once!_ " he yells back, losing his composure for the first time. His voice sounds raw even to himself. 

He takes a few seconds, looking anywhere but Sirius, until he can speak again. Until he doesn't sound so _broken_.

"I already lost you once, but this time there's something I can do to stop it. To stop you, or try to," he offers him a weak, pained smile, "I won't force you to come with me, but I want my brother back," Regulus chokes the words out, but refuses to let the tears fall; refuses to even acknowledge they're there. 

Sirius stays silent, blinking in evident surprise at hearing him.

Regulus is surprised too. He didn't expect to ever say that out loud; never thought he'd have the chance—the courage to actually do it, never mind the absurd idea of his brother listening. But it's out now, and Merlin, _how he'd missed him_. 

Sirius takes a few more seconds to process, but finally, _finally_ , he concedes.

"Okay," he says, "Okay, I'll go with you." 

"Thank you," Regulus murmurs, freeing him. 

They agree to go their separate ways until it's time to meet again. Regulus knows Sirius has at least one other friend he'd want to talk to, and he isn't completely opposed to the idea of adding another person to their travel, so long as Dumbledore doesn't know. 

And besides, he still has to inform his mother. They have barely talked lately, and... that's saying something, since they hardly ever talked before. But she still gifted him life, and so he owes her that. A goodbye is the least he can give her.

That doesn't mean he'll tell her the truth, but maybe part of it. 

He knocks on her door, waiting a minute before entering, aware it's rather late.

The air is stale, the room lacking proper ventilation. She barely spares him a glance.

"Mother," he greets, bowing respectfully. She stays silent, but Regulus knows he has her full attention immediately. 

"I'll be leaving this country," he informs her, measuring her reactions, "The Dark Lord has been defeated, and it is only a matter of time before the aurors decide to come for his followers."

She scowls, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she doesn't talk. Regulus sighs.

"I don't intend to get caught, so I'll be leaving Britain today," he adds, feeling something akin to pity. Walburga may have been terrible as a parental figure, and even more so as a person, but he still cares deeply for her; could never bring himself to hate her.

Still, he gets nothing. She won't even look at him. Not that Regulus expected her to; she's the shell of the woman he used to fear.

"I wished to inform you of my decision," he finally says, bowing one last time before stepping out of her room, "Goodbye, mother. Take care," he whispers. 

He's leaving her behind, along with this house and all its terrible memories. 

It's freeing. It's also terrifying, since this is all he's ever known. 

But he has a mission now. A reason to stay alive. _To actually live this time_. 

He returns to his own room to take Harry with him, carefully holding him, everything else already sorted, and then he's gone.

Or he intends to, until he hears some barking.

There's a big black dog waiting for him outside. Regulus frowns. He can see blood. 

"I didn't think you'd be back so soon. What happened?" he asks, holding Harry securely with one arm. The baby is still sleeping, and they are both under a strong disillusionment charm, but his voice is clear and very much audible.

The dog whines and nuzzles him, and Regulus casts the spell at him too, which allows Sirius to turn back into his human form, full of nervous energy. 

But he doesn't answer. Instead, he looks longingly at Harry. His wish is more than evident. 

Regulus huffs, but he notices the fresh cuts on his brother's face too; his left eye a dark mix of red and purple. Even his clothes are stained. _So it didn't go well._

He takes his wand and cleans the mess as best as he can, healing him in the process. 

"I didn't know you were this good with healing magic," Sirius comments, smiling when Regulus finally allows him to take Harry.

He immediately kisses his forehead and the boy clings to his godfather, cuddly even in his sleep. 

"I'm really not, though it doesn't hurt to have some knowledge," but as he says this, he starts musing; the idea seems very appealing all of the sudden. It'd be nice to give back. Maybe he'll allow himself the chance.

"I missed you too, you know?" Sirius' voice interrupts his thoughts, and Regulus stares.

"Did you?" he asks, unable to stop himself. 

"Yes," Sirius doesn't hesitate to answer, honest, though most of his attention is devoted to the adorable baby he's hugging. 

Regulus smiles.

The future will be bright, he knows it. 

_He'll make sure of it._  
  


They arrive via portkey to a warm, beautiful little cottage in the outskirts of Geirangerfjord, Norway; one of the many properties owned by his family, of which not many know of, ensuring their privacy and safety for at least a few years. They will move, eventually, since the idea of exploring the world is tempting. But, for now, this is perfect. 

That done, they certainly don't know what to do from now on, but if their whole childhood taught them something, it's what to avoid. The rest they can learn. They have time.

Harry will grow up loved, wanted and without the pressure of other people's expectations bringing him down. 

Tomorrow they will change their last name to _Blanc_ , since Sirius thinks it's a good joke. 

It's not too bad. _White_. A blank page. A new beginning. 

_It will be okay._

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to dedicate this fic to Satan himself, you know, the 6666 was my true goal. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope this was acceptable! Many thanks to my lovely beta for saving your eyes and my dignity.
> 
> Also, eh, many things were kinda implied here, like Walburga's depression and Remus rejection. He believed Sirius was the traitor, you see, and didn't give him the chance to explain.  
> Dumbledore won't know about the horcruxes for a while, but maybe Reg will send him an anonymous note.  
> Harry is totally getting blood adopted by Sirius (Blanc. I will laugh at my own jokes, okay).  
> And yes, Regulus is totally becoming a Healer.  
> Also! Sirius somehow managed to get his hands on James' invisibility cloak because of course he did. This wasn't implied anywhere because it'll mess my perfect 6666, but you can bet he took it because it's Harry's now. 
> 
> And finally, please cry with me imagining a Harry raised by this two idiots.


End file.
